


"Not Again..."

by iustuscadens



Series: Staying Close to the Ground [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, POV Minor Character, PTSD, a fuck you very much to myself for doing this, and pre-homecoming, takes place during Homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iustuscadens/pseuds/iustuscadens
Summary: Things always come back around.~~AKA I took the funny video montage of the aftermath of the DC incident in Homecoming and I made it sad.





	"Not Again..."

**Author's Note:**

> While I work on another fic, this thing was nagging at me to be written so. 
> 
> When Mr. Harrington is videoed in the montage after the DC incident, his response elicited a mixed reaction from the theater. Like that mix of "ohhhh" and laughs, most of which were uncomfortable. 
> 
> I thought about that scene a lot. So this happened.

Things…they have a way of repeating themselves.

Take class for example: You ever find you learn something new, then all the sudden that specific topic keeps popping up in life? Maybe you learn about the Krebs cycle. Then you're out at coffee with a friend after and you know, out of the blue, they ask, while staring at their croissant, "So that's the deal with food anyways? What does food actually _do_ , you know?"

And you answer, because you just learned about it.

Similarly, how when you're _teaching_ a subject in class, all the other teachers seem to be on a topic that crosses over with the one you just went over yesterday.

Kid raises their hand, says, "Dude: Mr. Harrington, we just talked about that in history class."

_History class, of all things._

Yeah, things have a tendency of coming back around. All the good things…

All the bad things…

~~

 

"Not again…" He says, eyes moving past the camera.

Things come back around.

 

~~

 

He'd been terrified, when the elevator dropped.

Yeah, but not really for himself.

You see, there were two wide-eyed kids staring upwards, staring at him, like he'd suddenly have the answer or the solution to this problem which: _are you fucking kidding me?_

Yeah, he doesn't have the answer, just a little bit of hope that's dashed when he sees the last, clinging piece of metal snap and suddenly his stomach is in his throat.

The world's in slow motion.

Liz's hair is floating and Ned's backpack is hovering above him.

Like they're all in some crazy space movie, or underwater.

And all he can think is…

_Man. Not again._

 

~~

 

It was a sunny morning, _the morning_ , before he took up a bottle a day and before he'd divorced his wife and moved in to the shitty apartment down the street from his modest, but _cozy_ prior living space. He loaded everyone up the same way he always does, listened to the chatter of the kids and grinned at how excited some of them were. Others weren't so hyped, but eh. You can't win 'em all, right?

A museum, it'd been a museum.

"So we gonna learn some actual interesting shit on this trip?"

"Museums _are_ informative," He'd said in a chipper voice, that also held a bit of sarcasm and got a good-natured eye roll from his student. He let the language slip because he'd been up since four A.M. planning and honestly couldn't care. Besides, they weren't really on school grounds anyways.

She'd smiled at him.

She was shy, timid, a transfer student. Black hair, always hiding behind it and he'd tried to get her out of her shell this new semester. "Excited, Nicole?"

She nodded, quickly, ducked in to the bus.

He'd called off roll and sat in the front and never thought anything of it.

It was a sunny day.

 

~~

 

Not again.

_Not again._

Once is enough. Two times is _just cruel_.

Thinking you'd made it out. Man, why hadn't he just stayed in the elevator? Refused the directions of the rescuing officer? Screw _location_ , she could have gone around him. She could have.

He watches the metal car drop.

Time stops.

But the guy, the _guy, Spider-Man,_ he misses her but he extends his wrist and _he catches her._

_The guy got her._

_Fuck._

He puts his hand over his mouth and thinks he might faint. Thank God. _Thank God._

You know there's a reason he does this every year. It's for them. It's for the kids. He loves them, in the way that he's proud of them. He's never had kids of his own, never got the chance after… _after._

He could have easily just fallen in to it, in to the dark hole, let it swallow him up.

But he's here, and his students are surrounding him. Alive. And they get to grow up, he gets to help them. Teach them, prepare them for the world. It's…well it's everything.

Not everyone gets to grow up, unfortunately.

But that doesn't mean you stop trying.

"Thank you!"

 

~~

 

The cruel irony of it is…well, that they never even made it to the museum.

In fact they were maybe two blocks away.

That's when the sky got a little darker.

Not too dark. But it was like they'd gone from sunny to overcast, and you know, they were in a _bus_ , so they didn't have time to look up. Not before the first wave hit.

It was crazy. One moment he was staring at a car about three blocks in front of them, light up like the Fourth of July, the next, the whole bus rocked and he was flying, hitting his head on the window and everything went black for an instant.

Then they were on their side.

People were screaming.

Kids. His kids.

He woke up all at once, and reality slammed in to him. Kids were helping each other up, they'd already got the top exit kicked out and students were scrambling through it. Half of 'em were out already.

He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain and the strange way his vision dimmed as he scrambled out, counting kids in his head. Ignoring the slump of the bus driver and the strange angle in her neck. _Get the kids out safe, get the kids out safe._

Outside it was a madhouse, there were people - No, _things_ , littering the sky and they weren't-….they weren't-

_Don't think about that now._

He ran, he picked up kids by their armpits, he shoved them all towards the nearest doorway, and entrance to a department store his wife favored, the windows were shattered, but he knew it was deep and the area where the fitting room was located was out of sight, in the back…

It was too chaotic to count, but he was counting anyways. Janine, Kwone, Jed, Garret, Teddy, Tyra, Harry, Nwa, June, Lee, Alyssa, David - 1, 2, 3, 6, 9, 12 - Where's Ni-

He was running back to the bus when he spotted her.

One of the things was standing over her, her hand was flying up to cover herself and he didn't see it happen, not really. The thing was blocking her, he just saw the downward motion of its arms, heard the slicing sound, and saw the full-body twitch. The shudder.

The thing, the creature, went down instantly, an arrow sticking out of its head.

But too late, a second too late.

An instant.

He was down skidding on his knees, ignoring the pain as the gravel tore through his jeans, ripped up his skin.

He brushed away that long, black hair, looked at those once timid, shy eyes.

He reached down, pulling her up, hugging her close to him.

The sun shined on.

~~

 

"…Mr. Harrington?"

He looks up, slightly startled, from his seat on the bus, and turns to Liz.

She still looks slightly frazzled. There's a wild look in her eyes despite how chatty she'd been on the ride home. _Spider-Man. Can you believe it? Spider-Man. Saved me!_ But it seems like she's finally starting to realize what almost happened. What could have happened.

People do that. They compartmentalize.

"…Are you alright?" She asks, and for the life of him he can't helped but be extremely touched by the sentiment. She's a kid, you know, they're pre-occupied with all this stuff. Life stuff. Shit, she almost died but she still manages to ask him. "You look a little…I don't know."

She holds out a Gatorade. She's been passing them around to the rest of the team.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He says, instantly, rehearsed. He takes the Gatorade stiffly. He doesn't reach out to put his hand on her shoulder, like he wants to. That crap is frowned upon these days. A simple gesture, for someone who nearly died. Frowned upon. Shit. "We'll be back soon. You okay?"

"Mmhmm." She nods, glancing down. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good."

She nods, then looks over him and her expression becomes a cold neutral. "Orange or lime green?"

He sighs, resting his head on the spongey material of the divider in front of him.

"…lime…" Comes a voice. He turns his head to the side as the drink is passed over his head and Liz returns to her seat. He narrows his eyes slightly as the cap is unscrewed and wary eyes meet his.

"Don't think this whole debacle made me forget, Mr. Parker." He says dryly.

Peter looks like he's gonna choke on his drink, but at least the kid doesn't talk back, like most kids do. Instead, he just nods once, and turns back to his assigned spot, looking out the window.

Peter's one of the good ones, someone he'd never suspect of ditching like that. Someone needs to ask him what's wrong, and the man plans to do it.

Tomorrow.

But he can't right now. He just can't.

 

~~

 

After it happened. they asked him to do an interview on behalf of Nicole.

He agreed, because he was being polite, and because who the Hell says no?

The one-day war was over, and despite it being a massacre, it was deemed a success. A success. They say they won.

They _won_. Ha.

When the day came, it was one-thirty in the afternoon and he was still in bed.

 _"You have to get up eventually…"_ His wife said.

 _Fuck that_ , he thought, and turned over, pulling the cover over his head.

He always regretted that, not going. Letting those people down. Letting her memory down.

But he just couldn't get the image out of his head. Of those cold, dead eyes.

Once timid, alive. Now just…reflecting the sun.

 

~~

 

Yeah, things always come back around.

A subject, a letter. A blunder from a past event. From a past version of you. A past relationship, a trauma.

They tell you not to live in the past.

You don't _need_ to.

It always comes back around.

"Mr. Harrington, would you like to say something for our show on Monday?" Betty asks brightly, behind her phone, already recording. Man, she just doesn't know. He wants to tell her to put it away. _Later, Betty. Later._

But the camera's already rolling.

"As you know, we made it out alive. And that's the important thing. Couldn't bear to lose a student on a school trip."

His eyes move, past the camera, his shoulders sag.

"Not again."


End file.
